Right
by fanta-faerie
Summary: He used to wish she had been adopted so that what he was feeling couldn't be judged.


**Please read while listening to 'One More Day' by Diamond Rio.**

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><p>He had used to dream that she was adopted, you know.<p>

He used to dream that their parents had quietly picked her up one day and brought her home for him to see- after all, he couldn't remember Theresa being pregnant.

It would have made things so much simpler- it would have made their childish games that much sweeter.

And as the years passed, he almost managed to convince himself.

Her button-nose was nonexistent in the family, and the shimmer of her hair when she carelessly flicked it about- well, he hadn't seen that in any girl.

But then she had to go and be stubborn and intelligent and witty and infuriating and he could see her traits reflected in him and their parents and Max and Kelbo and- _damn_.

He hated when the dream would shatter.

Because when her eyes would narrow mischievously and her pink lips scrunch, he would look at her and wish-wish wish wish- that he would wake up and she would be nothing more than less than family.

He perfectly remembered the day he realized what he felt for her was wrong.

It was seaside- on a beach somewhere in the middle of a long-forgotten summer. Sandcastles and red buckets and blue-green water washed over the images that flashed brokenly through his memory, but he could still hear the crash of the waves, the briny scent of sea that filled the air.

He remembered her thick dark hair curling over her small shoulders- her high-pitched, carefree laugh- her bright eyes and flushed cheeks- her inquisitive smile as she asked what those two people over there were doing-

Their parents as they explained how _when two people love each other, they make their mouths all squishy and _kiss.

He remembers trying to grab her and make his mouth squish too- after all, he did love her, even if the whole thing seemed weird and not a little gross.

But he'll never forget the laughter on his parents' faces as they told him that brothers and sisters never did things like that.

Never

So he keeps repeating that word in the hopes that it might etch itself into his brain, rewire the thoughts that kept flitting across his mind whenever she would drop lazily onto the couch beside him, legs coming to rest on his lap as she snags the remote.

But then she would wriggle and turn and move until somehow her head was nestled near his chest and his hand was draped somewhere near her stomach and the slender curve of her neck was bared to him to gaze at, to kiss, to whisper words he didn't even understand to.

And everything, every damn bit of resistance he put up would fall away as if it never existed and he would feel his heartbeat quicken, fingertips dancing a pattern on his own arms that he wished he could draw on hers.

He knew he could never say no to her.

Not when she would come, hair wild and face worried, not when she would run, eyes full of laughter as she pulled of her latest idiotic scheme, not when she would turn with tears streaking down her soft cheeks, not when she would clasp her hands in an unconvincing show of remorse and 'please'.

So he would fix it- fix whatever needed fixing, whether it was a broken bone, a broken plan, a broken friendship, or a broken heart.

Because that was his job, wasn't it?

He was_ supposed_ to protect her.

He was _supposed _to love her.

Was it his fault that she was so incredible- so undeniably _his _and only his- that the idea of anyone else was ridiculous?

Oh, he put up a good show, what with his numerous girlfriends and Harper.

Alex always said he was the worst liar in the world- but damn it all to hell, he loved her and nobody ever found that out, did they?

And sometimes, sometimes, in the dead of the night when the world was sleeping and there was nothing left awake to judge him- he would slowly turn over memories in his mind, dissecting them to a fine point- wondering, wondering, if he was the only one, if this debacle of a love story was as unrequited as it seemed.

For he thought he caught glimpses- fiery, passionate glances of a fierce love- but then again, he had always been prone to overreacting, and if this wasn't a prime example then he didn't know what was.

And it was wrong- all of it, every part of it, every glance and touch and gentle brush of her hands against his, but it was right, it was so right, they were _right_, -

But then again, perhaps that was the most wrong thing of all.

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><p><strong>Hello all! My first WWP ficlet- Yay! I had just read the most amazing fanfic that I stumbled upon purely by chance (In Fire, In Ice- by moirariordan) and felt the irresistible urge to write this. And yes, it's wrong, it's taboo- but I do think it's impossible to watch the show and <em>not <em> see this pairing haha. **

**Anyway, please, please, please review- it makes my day, really(:**

**-FantaFaerie**


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